


Home, Extended

by ferix79



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Genocide Run, Happy Ending, Nightmares, Nonbinary Character, Torture, sans suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5852878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferix79/pseuds/ferix79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans has a nightmare about Chara torturing him. </p>
<p>WARNING: Torture and violence within, but it all ends up (mostly) okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home, Extended

It feels all the world like the real thing. Frisk—no, no, Chara—plucking his limbs off one by one, tendon by painful tendon, 

(he doesn’t even have real muscles, he thinks later on, but something has to be holding his bones together. Ghost tendons? Invisible ligaments? Either way they still hurt like a bitch)

ligaments stretching and snapping as the child, demon, ever so slowly increases the strength of their pull. They don’t even do anything with the severed limbs, just set each one down gently on the tile of the hall and glance up at his face between each limb. They’re sporting a soft smile as if they were painting sans’ toe bones at a sleepover, as if it’s the most normal thing in the underground. Sans only stares back, emotionless. 

He has no more tears to shed for this child. No more words to scream or curses to hiss. How dare they come back around again and murder everyone again like they just want to see everyone’s crushed faces and horrified looks again and—

He has nothing. It does not matter. 

His last limb pops off with a wet squelch and Chara holds the hand up to their face, mocking him. Is this what they have stooped to, after all this time? Leaving someone defenseless and then mocking them? Sans supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised, but he can feel contempt and hatred surging in what’s left of his body and—

Nothing. He can do nothing. He doubts he would do anything, if he even could. 

Chara’s mouth is moving and he can hear their speech, but the words pass by him like wind. The child moves behind him and, through the searing wall of pain, he feels a light touch on the sides of his skull. 

He thinks of his friends—

\--------

Unlike in the monochrome world of the dream, in the real world, the soft, warm present, tears are pouring down sans’ face. He can not feel his limbs for a long moment, paralyzed with emotions that he can not place, until the ache of his fingers creeps into the edge of his mind. He’s gripping the pillow so tightly, but as his ragged breaths start to even out he finds himself relieved to have fingers in the first place. Gingerly unclenching his hands, he rolls over onto his back, blanket tangling in his arms.

His toes are next; he wiggles them against the bedding until the cool feeling of the sheets eases his mind. Folding and unfolding his knees feels nice, too, but he can’t help but flinch at the memory of pain. The feeling is distant to him now; he can barely remember it, but he knows that he may double check that his legs are still there over the next few days. 

Relief floods his system as the adrenaline wears off, and sans lets his head loll to the side. Papyrus and Frisk sleep peacefully beside him—he’s always been a quiet sleeper, hasn’t woken Papyrus up with his nightmares in any timeline— 

Panic lances through him faster than Undyne’s bullets, his limbs are frozen again. Is this a dream? Did a reset happen? Where—?

When the child—helpless, young, not a drop of EXP to their name—yawns and snuggles closer to his brother , the more rational side of sans reminds him that they’re no longer in the underground. They’re in a modest house that he and his brother rent above ground, sleeping on an oversized mattress on the floor of their living room. Frisk had come over earlier that evening to watch movies with Papyrus, and he had been roped into a sleepover with the two. 

He sits up for a moment, careful not to shift the covers, and wipes at his eyes with the cuffs of his pajamas. Papyrus’ old pajamas, he remembers, from years ago. After a deep breath he snuggles back down into the warmth of the blanket, scooting closer to Frisk until their backs rest against each other. He can trust the kid this time, he knows it, even if, deep down, the fear will never really fade away.


End file.
